


Don't Be Late

by GreyLiliy



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-17
Updated: 2014-06-17
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1799137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Optimus is late for his rendezvous with Elita, and she's beginning to worry. When Megatron shows up instead, Elita finds herself with a fight on her hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Be Late

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in January (2014), and forgot to post it somewhere other than Tumblr. But I'm still super proud of it, so here it is! :D
> 
> Originally it was just a vent, because I was having a bad day and I wanted two Mechs to beat the crap out of each other. Megatron vs Elita was my personal challenge. Hope you enjoy!

"Optimus," Elita said, holding her comm link open. She held her blaster at her side, scanning the empty terrain for any signs of movement. The torn, burnt buildings of the devastated city were all she met. "Optimus, do you read me? If you can, I’m reminding you that you’re fifteen minutes late for our rendezvous."

Elita dropped the comm line and pulled her blaster back up into an offensive position. She tapped her fingers on the barrel. “And being embarrassed you forgot had better be the only reason you’re not answering.”

The broken rubble had no answer for her. Elita vented softly, and started to move through the debris. Perhaps he was in a different place, waiting for her—they hadn’t been very specific with the meeting place. She ducked under a fallen wall, and continued her path on the inside of the line of old homes. She watched the torn and wounded terrain outside of the shattered windows, and lamented.

Such a waste.

Elita ignored the limbs, and desecrated pieces of her fallen comrades that were scattered about the floors inside the houses, and the streets outside. There was no help for them any longer. She tightened her grip on her rifle and pushed forward, keeping her gaze on as much as she could.

Optimus had to be here somewhere.

"You’re idiots! All of you!" A voice boomed, filling the area and stopping Elita in her tracks.

A voice that used to fill an entire arena with his cry.

"Megatron?" She mouthed to herself. What was he doing here? He was supposed to be in Kaon this week. Elita ducked under the window line and headed toward the voice. "Guess Optimus will have to wait for me."

Megatron was two blocks down, shouting at a rather large group of foot soldiers bearing his insignia. Elita watched from her spot near a window, leaning just around the corner to count heads and listen in.

"Now get out there before you miss them!" Megatron roared, and they scattered like mice toward the outside of the city. He snarled, rubbing the side of his head. "I should just do it myself."

_Do what himself?_ Elita asked herself. What was he doing here? Was their intel on his project in Kaon a farce? Elita had two courses of action. Follow and gather more intel, or radio back to base and get back up. The safer was the second plan of action, but her radio wasn’t work—

Elita swung her rifle around and smashed the butt of it into Soundwave’s visor. It cracked, the spider-web fractures splitting half of it.

"Stupid," she hissed to herself, kicking the blue mech in the stomach before he could recover. Soundwave doubled over his waist, covering the dent in his armor.

She sprinted.

"Megatron!" Soundwave shouted, touching a hand to the wounded part of his face. He pointed in her direction, crying out, "Elita!"

"Not what I needed today," Elita said. She jumped over the window ledge, landing in the street. She was faster. Elita could run by Megatron and regroup with her party waiting on the edge of the city. Elita could—Megatron was standing in the middle of her path. The bulk of him filled the slim streetway, leaving no room to get past. Elita evened her face and stood straight. _No fear._ “Megatron.”

"Elita One," he said pleasantly. He had his arms behind his back, and stood relaxed. "How strange to see you all alone. No Chromia today?"

"I wish I could say the same to you," Elita said. She glanced at Soundwave crawling out of the window. His bird landed on his shoulder and he pet it’s head. "But I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without one of your dogs."

"Such insults," Megatron said. He dropped his arms to his side and widened his stance. Elita moved her finger to the blaster trigger. Megatron smiled. "It seems I’ve caught you in a poor mood. What happened to all that diplomacy you’re so proud of?"

Elita smiled, “Your presence has that sort of an impact, what can I say?”

"Oh? Not quite the impact I normally enjoy leaving," Megatron said. He stretched his neck out, and stretched out his fingers. "Why don’t you allow me to correct that?"

Elita threw up her rifle to block Megatron’s fist when it came flying at her. His knuckles smashed into the metal, bending it clear in half. It stopped a mere inch from her nose. Elita grit her teeth and pushed on the ends of the gun, wrapping it tighter around Megatron’s hand. Still holding the ends, she threw her arms to the side, dragging Megatron’s arm and fist with it. Elita used the opening to step up on his thigh and vault over his back.

Megatron ripped the gun from his hand, and spun on his back foot. He caught Elita by the ankle mid-leap. He slammed down and Elita hit the road, the force throwing the loose debris into the air. The air flew from her vents in a rush. She rolled, and kicked his hand with her free foot. Freed, Elita moved back a few paces, even as the hand shaped dent on her lower leg ached, keeping her eyes on the ex-gladiator.

"Someone’s getting rusty," Megatron said, admiring the scrape of pink paint on the inside of his palm. He rubbed his fingers together, flaking it off. "Head somewhere else?"

"No one’s perfect," she answered. Elita squared her stance, and put her hands up. She didn’t have a rifle to catch a bunch this time. "Is there a reason you’re throwing punches with no reason?"

"Killing one of my enemy’s top generals to cripple their forces isn’t a reason?" Megatron asked, smiling. He aimed his canon toward Elita and it charged with a luminous hum. "Autobots are stupider than they look."

The canon fired, and Elita dodged. The wall behind her disintegrated in the blast, lighting everything in the area in that sickly blue. Disable the canon. First step. Elita rolled to the side as the next blast covered the area she had occupied moments ago. Megatron didn’t bother aiming, rapidly firing. The shattering pieces of building and dead body parts were his shrapnel.

Elita winced as a rock slammed into her back, but kept moving. She reached down, and grabbed the first thing she could lift. Throwing it at Megatron’s head, she hit him directly in the side of the helm—with an arm, it looked like. But it was enough. He fired in a wild direction, that sent a stream of rubble on the ever observing Soundwave. Elita almost chuckled at her good fortune. When his cannon hummed down, she dove for the arm, ripping at the connection.

The canon popped off, and she kicked it as hard as she good—sending it skidding down the street and far out of reach.

That left Megatron with only his hands as his weapons.

Which were, regretfully, equally as dangerous.

"Elita!" Megatron snarled, slamming his fist down into her back. She cried out hearing the metal crunch under the hit. Sparks lit from the opened piping and wires, and energon spurt from the broken conduit. "You will regret that."

"I think that’s what I should say to you!" Elita returned, swinging her fist into the side of his face. His head snapped to the side, and she punched the opposite side.

A trickle of energon escaped a broken tooth, and the pit fighter escaped at last.

Megatron snarled, latching onto Elita’s arm and twisting it behind her back. She held in the scream as the ligaments tore and the metal bent. Elita refused to give him the satisfaction. Distracted with the one arm, the other was free. Bent down as he was to reach, Megatron was in the perfect position.

"Megatron!" Elita called. She straightened her fingers and threw them straight into Megatron’s optic. The red glass shattered and she curved her fingers to dig into the socket and pull hard on the side of his face. Energon gushed out of the wound, and he hissed. "Let go!"

Instead, Megatron ripped his hand off to the side—taking Elita’s arm with it. She screamed this time, pulling her hand out of his face to stifle the flow. Energon sprayed through her fingers and coated the ground, even as nanites rushed to close the ruined and gaping wound. Her arm hung limply in his hand, as he crushed it in his fist. He shook his head, clearing the flow of energon from his face. Megatron dropped her arm and his remaining optic threw itself to Elita’s direction.

The fury she saw there matched her own rising in her spark.

Elita threw herself at him, upper cutting the larger mech in the chin. He returned with a punch of his own to the side of her helm. She kicked in the back of his knee joint, denting the armor in and breaking a pipe. Energon sprayed from the joint, covering her leg. Megatron back handed her in the side, throwing Elita a few paces away.

They continued on this way, like animals in a turbo fox fight. Megatron half blind, and Elita without an arm. Tears, dents, and slick energon coated them as they grappled in the dirt. Kicking. Punching and biting. The smear of their life-blood coated the once dead streets, bringing new color to the dried and aged energon spilled years ago.

Megatron hissed as Elita drove her hand into his side, bracing her foot on the back of his leg. He groped for her, and flung her off. Elita stood and vented heavily, every inch of her pumps and spark racing. He stood, every inch the gladiator the old adverts promised. No wonder so many paid to watch him perform. They eyed each other, from the two ends of the street. Waiting for the next to move.

They were the monsters.

A deafening horn cried out from the distance. Elita and Megatron turned to face the sound, and both spotted the approaching red and blue truck, and the small fleet of his fellow Autobots that followed behind him. Megatron growled, but was the first to relent.

His posture relaxed and he vented slowly. Megatron picked up his canon, and pointed a finger at Elita. “We will finish this another day, my dear.”

"Any time," she said, spitting a mouthful of Energon at his feet.

Megatron walked away toward Soundwave, acknowledging that today, neither was the victor. A few moments later, she saw the both of them fly off in the distance—toward Kaon.

Elita picked up her arm, and walked steadily toward the approaching truck. A trail of energon trickled behind her, but her back was straight when she met the mech who had transformed and jogged up to her.

Elita said, “Optimus.”

The mech, covered in dents and cracked plating of his own, vented in relief. Optimus said, “It is good to see you well.”

"You’re late," she said, relaxing her shoulders. She smiled, spying the trail of energon that he had left behind. _We match_. She bit the edge of her lip, holding in the laugh. “Had some trouble?”

"I got held up," Optimus said, looking at the trail behind Elita—and likely smiling just as brightly behind his face mask. "Won’t happen again."

"I should hope not," Elita said, tossing her arm at Optimus. He caught it with a fumble and she chuckled. She pulled him down by the top of his chest plate and kissed his face plate. "Don’t do it again."


End file.
